By Lynna Clark
Lynna wrote this for Easter… It comes from the story of the women finding the empty tomb….
Considering what the women had just witnessed, this little side note seems a bit far fetched. Matthew 28:8 says “they were frightened but also filled with great joy.” Yes Lord! I am afraid too. Please fill me with joy so that I can truly rest in You. For Your joy is my strength!
By Ed Traut
Psalms 44:8 In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.
Prayer: Holy Spirit put His praise continually in my mouth everyday all day and remind me of how great my Lord and Savior is, because He is a mighty God regardless of how things look around me. Amen.
Ed Traut
Prophetic Life
By Ann Farabee
Steve Hartman shares a wonderful story about WONDER! It’s fitting to run today, the day of the eclipse. ENJOY!
By Rhonda Sassano
”Oh Father, make yourself real to me like You promised me You would. Because of Your constant love and Your heart-melting kindness, come be my hero and deliver me! I’m so broken, needy and hurting. My heart is pierced through and I’m so wounded. I’m the example of failure and shame to all who see me. They just walk by me, shaking their heads, glad I’m the one suffering and not them. It’s the internal voices in my own head that beat me mercilessly, that mock me and insist I’m unworthy and unloved and unloveable. How can I escape my own thoughts? No matter where I hide, they find me, sneaking up out of the blue and stabbing me til blood pours out.
You have to help me, O Lord God! Idols are everywhere, and it is so convenient to allow them to distract me from my pain… but afterwards, nothing has changed. My heart still hurts, my circumstances are just as overwhelming.
I cannot live here.
No. No longer. No more. Not again.
Savior! My true hero, come to my rescue and save me, for You alone are loving and kind. You truly care for me and want to know my deepest wounds and ugliest scars… You felt each injury. But Your gaze is healing ointment that burns, but purifies. Like fire that sears but cleanses. When Your breath blows over it, the ash dissipates and a new heart is revealed, soft and pliable, the hardness gone. I will be so changed that everyone will know it is You that has won my victory, and they will all say to the Lord, “This is Your work, only You could do this!”
I will give my thanks to you over and over, and let everyone hear my lavish praises.
For You stand right next to me, a broken one. You are undeterred by my weakness, and unashamed to be my Champion. You delight in my desire for You. You are my saving hero and You rescue me from all my accusers, even from me.
“God is not looking for those who can but those who will.”
By Ashlie Miller
Do yourself a favor and read the paper while sitting outside today. If you are close to such spectacular sounds, sit and listen to the high trill of birds. As I sat down to begin writing on my porch, the overlapping chatter of many songbirds filled the air.
Growing up, I remember hearing that birds sing to praise the Lord. Many of their calls are for basic, daily survival. However, we can observe their behavior and see that everything created can bring glory to God. As it says in Psalm 148:7-10, “Praise the Lord from the earth … small creatures and flying birds!” God made things for His glory and praise. Isn’t it remarkable that in Him receiving glory, we can enjoy the beauty and wonder of creation?
Birds sing continuously and loudly. From the early hours of first light, I can hear them rousing the neighborhood with their melodies. In the midday, I hear their symphony while I enjoy my lunch. Depending on the bird, their songs soften or increase in the evening. They are simply doing what they know to do – communicating for various reasons and needs – resulting in an echo of songs that resonate in our hearts.
We, too, can attend to our everyday activities as an offering of praise and worship when done with the joy, purpose, and acknowledgment of the work God has given us to do at that moment. We can worship continuously by ensuring that everything we do is done with all our heart as serving the Lord (see Colossians 3:23, 1 Corinthians 10:31).
Often, I am tempted to do things with a grumbling spirit, which Philippians 2:14 warns us about. I can groan and complain as I rage clean the house – “I guess if I want it done, I’ll have to do it myself!”… “Either no one sees this mess, or they think someone else will clean it up!” Or I can be thankful that I have a large family to serve, that I can serve them another day, and that one day they will be getting similar opportunities to serve selflessly. Do I always succeed? Not nearly. But I can grow a little at a time.
Imagine a day when Christians will eternally worship on a renewed earth using our abilities and interests in unfettered, non-distracted, uninterrupted ways! Our gifts and talents will resonate with beauty, adoration, and glory more purely to God – to work as we were originally intended all those years ago in the Garden of Eden as God dwells with us.
But until that day, much like the birds flitting about, singing, and chirping to our ears’ delight, I pray my daily mundane is more than a monotonous tone of duty and instead reflects gratitude and satisfaction in completing a task with joy. May it sound as lovely as a songbird and less like unsuccessful attempts to stifle grumbling.
Ashlie Miller is slowly growing past rage cleaning as she puts away the dozens of glasses and cups left out each day by her 5 children. You may contact her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.
By Doug Creamer
Last weekend was Easter, and my family gathers at my brother’s house each year. They make getting together such a memorable time. There is always plenty of great food and plenty of places to sit and enjoy it with family. The extra bonus last weekend was the wonderful weather. It was a stunning spring day.
After we ate, the adults began “hiding” the Easter eggs. There were so many plastic eggs that many of them were out in plain sight. I saw my brother with the ladder out and wondered if he was hiding eggs on the roof. He was actually retrieving a toy plane, which he had to retrieve again later in the day. There were a few eggs placed high in the V of a tree. One of my nephews held a child high in the air to get them down. Wish someone had caught a picture of that.
The fun part of the Easter egg hunt is that it is not just for kids. Everyone from the toddlers to the patriarchs in their nineties was moving as fast as they were capable to collect as many eggs as possible. The plastic eggs contained both candy and play money. The play money was turned in for fun prizes. Both the adults and kids clamored for the best ones. The laughter and the joy echoed through the air like a welcome spring breeze.
The gathering began to wind down as various ones began to head for home. The clean-up went quickly, as many hands make light work. Family gatherings always seem to go by fast. As I drove home I was kept company by the sounds of laughter and the new memories that will be tucked away like buried treasure. Another holiday gathering for the record books.
Here I sit a few days after our family gathering, still nursing the memories of the conversations with nephews who are growing a business and another who is starting a new career. It is interesting to hear how some nieces are navigating careers while others are dealing with the joys of motherhood. It was fun to talk with siblings who are about to retire and those who wonder if they will ever retire. It was fun to watch the patriarchs as they enjoyed their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren spending the afternoon together.
I thought about the family members who couldn’t make it to this gathering. I wonder how they are doing. It is impossible for entire families to gather when many live so far away and have other family commitments. I find myself wondering how they are doing and hoping they are surviving the ups, downs, and challenges of life.
Family gatherings are important here on earth. I try to make as many as possible but I have missed a few over the years. I believe that there are family gatherings every time a loved one passes and joins their family waiting for them in heaven. It must be a great celebration with wonderful food and lots of laughter and conversation. There will be lots of old stories swapped. None of the conversations will revolve around future doctor visits, aches and pains, or lack of hearing.
There is one catch. Not everyone will be at these heavenly gatherings. In order to attend these great reunions you have to be a member of the family of God. The invitation is available for everyone to attend, but some never sent back their acceptance letter. The acceptance involves asking Jesus to be your Lord and Savior. That’s the ticket. God wants every human being on earth to be there, but He lets that be our choice. We choose to accept His invitation or we decide by default not to be there for these wonderful family gatherings. The choice is ours.
There are many people that I am looking forward to seeing when I arrive for my banquet. I encourage you to make the most important decision of your life, to accept God’s invitation to come to heaven. No one can do it for you. It’s up to you. I want to see you in heaven so make the decision today. You don’t have to fix your life. Jesus is an expert at helping you because He has helped many others before you. You haven’t strayed too far. The Bible is full of people who have done terrible things and yet found forgiveness and acceptance in Jesus’ embrace. That same acceptance is available to you without any cost. I am not sure what I will eat first; I am mainly looking forward to the gathering of family and friends!
Contact Doug Creamer at PO Box 777, Faith, NC 28041or doug@dougcreamer.com
By Roger Barbee
For many years I was part of a school’s administration that planned and supervised annual retreats for its high school students. One of the most popular activities on those retreats was the group hike to the large rock outcrop at the summit of Great North Mountain. We gathered our students onto the rock, and they would gaze east, looking far below to the village of Orkney Springs and Shrine Mont, the Episcopal Conference and Retreat Center for the Diocese of Virginia. It was a view that gave dimension to the hike they had just completed and to the village and retreat center. During one of the retreats, a student asked if some of them could hike back to the summit the next morning to see the sunrise. That is how I came to be standing outside the dining hall the next morning where about a dozen seniors met me, each gripping a flashlight in the morning chill. Leaving the center’s parking lot, our sleepy group walked past the outdoor chapel and followed a shadowy fire road where the walking was rather easy, even in the thick darkness of the woods. But soon enough, the rather smooth way of the fire road gave way to the trail, a narrow rock-filled path that served as a stream after every summer storm. Carefully we walked up the steep trail, each of us working in his or her own way to step gingerly on and around rocks. The walking was such that not even this group of high school seniors did what adolescents do best—talk. The flashlights’ beams and the labored breathing of walkers marked our progress, but we finally arrived safely at the summit and our destination.
We helped each other to climb onto the large stone outcropping, and the deep quiet was only disturbed by the many clicks as we turned off our flashlights. Getting comfortable on the outcrop in the thick dark of the forest, we reverently watched for the sunrise. The dawn came slowly to the valley that held the village and retreat center far below. A student asked about the lakes we saw, and another explained that what we were seeing was not lakes but concentrations of fog in low places that looked, in the low light, like lakes. Sitting in awe of the scene, we each tried to guess exactly where on the forested horizon the sun would show. Time in that stillness seemed halted, but suddenly one of the students said in a hushed shout, “There it is.” We each turned to our left, looking beyond the resort of Bryce, and watched in that dawn’s cloistered light until the sun grew so bright that we had to turn away, unaware that as we had been mesmerized by the sun rising, the warming of the earth had caused the heavy fog to evaporate, revealing the retreat center and the village of Orkney Springs far below us. When the sun cleared the far horizon, a student said (with only the wisdom of a high school senior), “Well, that’s over.” We then stood, stretched, and quietly commented about what we had done and what we had seen. We then hurried down the trail to the dining lodge for a breakfast of fried apples, sausage, and pancakes.
In Hold Everything Dear, John Berger writes, “A mountain stays in the same place, and can almost be considered immortal, but to those who are familiar with the mountain, it never repeats itself.” For many years I led students and teachers on the hike to that large rock on Great North Mountain. But only that one time did some students want to walk in the dark in order to witness a sunrise from the rock. Since that morning I have seen dawns come over at Shrine Mont and at other locales. Many dawns. Many years. Many students. And all are like Berger’s mountain: All the same without repetition.
The student who announced, “Well, that’s over,” was right. Our shared experience of the hike in the dark and that particular moment of seeing dawn come is now past, but I hope that the effect of rising so early, walking in the dark with classmates, and witnessing such a fine dawn is still with that student and all the others. I hope that that memory is one carried onward into their lives so that, when needed on one of those dark trails we all walk, it brings light, warmth, and hope.
By David Freeze
Things are much different with races these days from when I began running in 1979. 5Ks are all the rage now and there are lots of choices within an hour’s drive. Forty-five years ago, we often drove 2 or more hours to find a race and 8K, 10K and 10 milers were popular. The 5K was usually the secondary race if it was even offered. Walkers seldom participated then, but last week’s 5K at Concordia Lutheran Church Love Thy Neighbor event had them as about a third of the field. Races were affordable nearly everywhere, but today’s pricing often tops $40-45. There were no participation medals then, but now the biggest city races nearly all have them. But good races had accurate courses and they still should.
In the ’80s and early in the ’90s, we didn’t have as many ways to measure the distance of the race or a run of any length. The best way to get an idea of the distance was to drive the course and hope the vehicle odometer was calibrated correctly. Nobody had satellite-capable watches like the industry standard Garmins that arrived on the scene in the late ’90s and early 2000s.
I believe that these Garmins are the best satellite watches on the market, but still they are not totally accurate. Neither are popular sites like MapMyRun and Strava. It is very common for a new race to call with the idea of already having their course mapped out. Or that they have drawn it on GIS. None of these methods are recognized as accurate by the Road Runners Club of America or the United States Association of Track and Field. All this will come as a shock to a large percentage of runners, and at least one race director in a nearby county who still drives his car over the course for a measurement.
So, how do we get an accurately measured course? It starts with a solid wheel on a handle, one that can be rolled along ahead of someone walking the course. Called wheel measurers, they measure feet and inches. The wheel is solid, not air inflated. This wheel or a Jones Counter, a bicycle mounted measurer, are all that are recognized as accurate. With the Jones Counter, the bicycle tires have to be calibrated for air pressure. No wonder the measuring wheel is the easiest to use device.
When setting up a course, either the start or finish point have to be chosen by the race director as most important. The 5K course can be measured forward or backward, and I usually measure forward if the start line is the most important while going backward if the finish is most important. By measuring backward, I would measure the .1 of the 3.1 total course first and then measure the third mile next, then 2 and 1. Each mile is 5,280 feet. That figure never changes. A tenth is 528 feet. A 5K course is 16,368 feet. Each of these points are marked with paint and occasionally with an old-style bottle cap secured with a nail driven into pavement.
Next most important to the actual distance is that the course be measured the way an experienced runner would run it. In other words, to match the shortest distance possible over the designated course. This term is called “running the tangents.” Legal, proper and expected.
There is a certain amount of math that complicates an intended course when it is not an out and back to a point that includes both the start and finish. A few of our local courses end several hundred feet from the start. Sometimes a turnaround point has to be calculated, and always should be marked and designated with a big cone or barrel. It gets to be even more interesting when different roads, called a loop, are used to return to the start or finish.
The next time you line up to walk or run a 5K or any distance race, remember that someone put a lot of effort into making the course accurate. Rowan County courses have a great reputation on this subject.
Look for future events at www.salisburyrowanrunners.org
By Theresa Parker Pierce
When I was three years old, my family moved to a house across the street from a church. I was too little to notice the building but the playground caught my eye. I spent the rest of my childhood appreciating the swings and sliding board. Looking back now, I realize that no one ever told me I was not wanted. Over the years, I made friends with the neighbor children and we played kickball on the open field beside the sanctuary.
I was an unchurched child. I would grow up to be a first generation Christian. It never occurred to me that I was any different than any other child. Cars came and went to the building and while no one ever invited me to join them, the people were always kind.
When I turned five, my mother wanted me to attend kindergarten. There was no public preschool. It was convenient enough that the program was across the street and I could go alone. For me, this was the best thing ever. My teacher was amazing! On a sidenote, she called me “my girl” and became friends with my mother. I visited in her home as an adult and kept up with her until her death at the age of 90. Mrs. Mary, as she asked me to call her had a name that was hard to pronounce, Noftsger. I fell so in love with my teacher, that she marked my chosen profession. I retired with 35 years in education. She would say of my teaching, “I am so proud of my girl.”
Attending church kindergarten, opened a door for me. I asked my momma if I could attend Sunday School. She agreed and I was delighted. Sunday School included more of the lessons I had learned at church kindergarten. We sang, heard Bible stories and talked. Other children asked questions and the teacher answered them. I did not talk. I did not know what to say. I just took it all in.
Sunday School started in a large room. A basket was passed and I placed a small offering in it. A pianist played hymns and songs. I sang at the top of my lungs. The chairs were easy to rock back and forth in. The superintendent took attendance. We were dismissed to small classes, segregated by boys and girls. It was the 1960’s. Then I walked home.
One thing I noticed was a baby nursery. It did not occur to me at the time, but now I know that children younger than me obviously went to church before age five. I could not change the knowledge that my life was different. I was just happy to be there. I loved the colorful posters of Jesus and the children. I loved the teachers. I wanted a string of Sunday School pins for perfect attendance but I knew that was unattainable and accepted it.
Vacation Bible School was even better than Sunday School. I could attend for a week in the summer. They had cookies that fit nicely on my finger. We drank red koolaide in tiny cups with refills. VBS was Sunday School amped up! We took turns holding the flags and Bible for pledges. We visited an orphanage and for once, I saw children who had less than me. It was a game changer. My Sunday School teacher grew up there. I had hope for my future. I wanted to be just like her.
Just when I thought things could not get better, I was invited to join the Children’s Choir.
I think this is when things began to change from wonderful to struggles. I was used to singing from the bottom of my heart but this was serious business. It felt like school. The choir director said, “Someone is off key.” I just knew it was me and began to fake singing. I wish now I had not but I also forgive my younger self. I understand.
I was growing older and I knew how to survive in my home. But at church and school, I became aware of the world of nice clothes. I did not fit in. I looked nice. I was clean. My clothes were pressed. My mother made them with care but the world of brands cast a long shadow over the teen years of church.
A beautiful Sunday School teacher drew me in. Just when I began to be disillusioned with church, Mrs. Powers stepped up to teach the Junior High class. It was the first time the boys and girls were mixed. I did not talk or ask questions but I knew she loved us and that was enough. My best friend and I were a dynamic duo. We sat together. It was enough. Our teacher loved us so much, she moved up with our group every year until we graduated high school.
I was not always invited to the parties of the other girls and boys. I was not cool. I joined the Youth Group. I saw hypocrisy. I heard kids making fun. I began to wonder how church kids were different from school kids. But fortunately, there were enough mentors, adult and teens that gave me hope. I watched my best friend’s family attend church, have devotions and do things differently. I wanted that kind of life. Not everyone was perfect. I heard stories. I began to understand how church attendees struggled like everyone else.
My inner voice kept me going to church and I am so glad that I did. At the age of twelve, I joined the church. My parents attended my baptism and started going to church. I made life- long friends at what I came to call, “my home church.” I grew up to be a church member, nursery worker and VBS teacher. I chose a better life for my children and grandchildren. I still go back to visit. I tell everyone there the difference they made in my life. I thank God that my childhood home was within walking distance of a church. Never underestimate a small child who is seeking God.
I grew up to raise my family in church all because I was mentored. I remembered and sang the same songs I learned as a child. I have thanked my home church many times. My life was changed. I read somewhere how one Godly man can change the trajectory of generations. A Godly mother can do the same. I thank God every day for those who pointed me in the right direction.
Dear Lord,
When I meet young and old, help me to remember that those who enter our church may not bring money or skills. Help me remember to not see them as a number. Help me to look at that child as a future parent. Please help me to mentor and encourage others who don’t look or act like me. Help me, please to protect them from human obstacles to their future as a believer. Most importantly, Lord, help me see everyone through Your eyes. Amen
Encouragement: Please consider inviting people to your church, especially children. They can be game changers for their future family. They can discover God’s peace and joy. Going to church gave me peace in my heart. The church showed me a different way of celebrating Christmas and Easter. I learned it was more than Santa and egg hunts. I found joy in singing, listening to testimonies and turning my life over to Christ. I encourage you to invest or continue investing in children. You can point the way for young person and change not only their life but their children and children’s children. I am living proof. Ray Boltz sang a song called, “Thank you for giving to the Lord, I have a life that was changed.” Someone did it for you, will you sew into God’s kingdom to change your neighbor, city and world?